


three h's

by r1ker



Category: The Nice Guys (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker





	three h's

Holland is maybe the most faceted drunk Jackson has ever met. Why? There's a lot going on once he's surpassed the suggested amount of alcohol for a night spent in with your investigative partner. More than his fair share of glasses litters his coffee table, shoved out of the way by two bare feet propped up on the top. Jackson's had a few beers, one vile little concoction of ice cream and booze Holland had the nerve to call a Pink Squirrel, so he feels like he's done for the night.

 

His partner, however, is not.

 

"One more, just a sip," Holland tries to argue as Jackson pulls away the highball glass containing what looks to be a giant's finger worth of whiskey. Even with a vicious pout he can't seem to get Jackson to hand the glass back over so he takes a swig from a gallon of water they were keeping close to stave off the dehydration. "Can't ever play with you."

 

Jackson starts picking glasses up by their rims, letting them clink softly down into the sink in the adjoining kitchen. In the next room he's able to mumble freely to himself as to his thoughts about Holland's voracious drinking when not fighting crime. "Play too hard, that's what it is."

 

"Heard that," comes right back from a certain someone on the couch. Jackson sighs and goes back to the other room. By now it's well past midnight, the house completely dark. He wants to kick himself in the ass for getting them both impressively drunk in pitch black, because helping Holland off of the couch and to his room is a monumental task. Heaving one of Holland's arms over his shoulder he tries to get him up and moving, but to no avail. "No, we sleep here tonight."

 

"We will not sleep on your couch, Holland, get up," Jackson grumbles right back when he tries a little harder to get Holland to budge. This time it works and he's half-dragging, half-carrying Holland back to his bedroom. The two of them make it to the bed successfully and Jackson didn't plan on going right down with Holland. "You going to be sick?"

 

Even as Holland is shaking his head to mean no Jackson begins to work, grabbing another glass of water from the bathroom and a damp hand towel. He flings it over Holland's forehead, over rumpled hair. Looking over him quickly he can't find much of anything wrong with Holland other than that he's wasted enough to sleep through the heavier parts of it. He divests the man of his button-up shirt, loafers and socks, because by now sleep is imminent.

 

"You are very, very good to me, Jackson Healy," Holland smiles through the haze of inebriation. He's got just enough coordination to rest one hand against Jackson's stubbled cheek. "And very handsome. If I weren't on the world's highest cloud at the moment, I could jump you right now."

 

Jackson snickers. Not a chance Holland is doing much of anything other than sleeping this off. Speaking of that it seems like a perfect time to ease on out of the house, get back and salvage what was left of his apartment after the massive shootout. As he rises from the bed one of Holland's hands wraps around his wrist to stop him. "You are too drunk to drive home there, Mr. PI. Stay with me." In an effort to break it to Holland gently that perhaps it wouldn't be best to stay in the same room with someone he went from wanting to kill to wanting to stay around for longer and longer he pulls Holland's hand away.

 

Not much of a surprise that the hand is back just as soon as it's been taken away. This time around Holland tugs him back down to lie next to him on the bed. He admits defeat the second Holland's got his nose in Jackson's hair. Submitting to this kind of affection was awfully easy. It didn't help that he was already on the verge of falling over from exhaustion anyway.

 

"Do you like me?" Jackson is never, _ever_ getting Holland drunk again and sticking around long enough to hear the questions brought forth from it. Despite his own reservations as to just how personal this night has become not of his own recognizance, he nods his head. "Holly told me one time that you're in love with me."

 

Jackson's never been one to challenge a teenager to a fight but he just might have to challenge Holland's daughter to a vicious arm wrestle for this. He focuses his breathing not on taking in the scent of Holland's cologne, his shampoo. "Holly's a teller of tall tales. All those times you left me alone with her, I learned some pretty interesting things about you." He responds to the inner urge to kiss Holland, this time on his cheek, moving down to where his earlobe connects.

 

"Like how I spent part of our payout on those last jobs to do a background check on you?" Holland asks, his hips angling up to where Jackson leans over him. He raises his eyebrows when Jackson looks down at him incredulously. "That's right, loverboy, I know all about you." The word _all_ comes out about nine syllables much too long. "Far be it from me to become partners with a guy whose first and last names were the only thing I knew about you." Holland laughs and becomes the one to venture out, kisses Jackson on the mouth.

 

"You spent all that money to find out my middle name and where I went to elementary school? Some might call that 'disposable income,' March." Jackson dabs at his face with the damp cloth, long since having dried enough to do much of nothing to wipe away the sweat from Holland's brow. He helps Holland sit up just enough to let him sip at the glass of water previously fetched, returning him to his reclining position shortly thereafter. "Could have just asked me, you know. All that time you spent pining over me – brief, I know – could have been put to good use."

 

"Then I wouldn't be my usual self if I cut to the chase," Holland refutes. "I was weighing some real pros and cons when my PI came to me with your personal files. That is, I couldn't go through life with three H's as my initials. Ruled that out, if I somehow found a way to make us common law and usurp your limited, limited assets for myself in an effort to satisfy my unrelenting desire to become King of Los Angeles Investigative Powers, I'd still be Detective March, if you please." The next time Jackson kisses him it's just to shut him up.

 

Holland falls asleep not long after that, one hand fisted in Jackson's shirt and the other limp against the bed. Jackson makes sure to leave him lying on his side as he settles into the bed next to him, a pillow beneath Holland's shoulders to rest him with his face against Jackson's thigh.

 

Holland's hand never leaves some part of him as he rearranges them both to where they're not slumped over the foot of the bed. Jackson hears snoring accompanied by light breathing and, feeling comfortable that Holland was in no way at a risk to choke on his own vomit in his sleep, settles down to rest next to him.

 

One of his hands can't stop running through Holland's hair, seeing it at its longest loose and without product around the nape of his neck, spilling over his ears and onto his closed eyes. He imagines what it'd be like to wake up to this every morning, not on the sparing occasions they get wasted together and Jackson ends up tending to him.

 

No, it'd be everything his mother always longed for him to have, mentioning it from the time it became apparent he was in no mood to settle down and wed conventionally. Since before he could ever gather his thoughts to aim towards something like this, lying in his partner's bed, watching him sleep away copious alcohol and previously unmentioned feelings, he dwells on the lamentations of his concerned hen of a mother. She'd said, in all her maternal concern and fervor, that Jackson needed _someone, doesn't matter who, that'll love him unconditionally and nag the shit out of him._

 

Three H's as his initials. He'd mock Holland mercilessly before he signed that piece of paper with pride.


End file.
